Spoils of War
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: SLASH: HPxDM, SSxLM. After the war, the Ministry sells Draco into slavery, not knowing that their hero would be the one to buy him.
1. Chapter 1

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Spoils of War   
by KC   
Disclaimer: I do not own HP.   
Notes: AU, HP/DM, SS/LM   
Rating: R 

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Champion of the Wizarding World and Destroyer of Voldemort, sat in the back of a smoky auction house and tried to keep his head down. By all rights, he should not have been here. Hooded warlocks, veiled witches and cloaked wizards filled the large room, their purses filled with as much gold as they could muster. Deals and promises were exchanged over the tables as they haggled over minor contracts, but everyone was really here for the auction.

No one knew he was here. When he'd found out what had happened to the Malfoys, Harry had made up a story about visiting his uncle's house one last time for an old family heirloom he'd forgotten. Instead he sat with one hand on his checkbook. His vast fortune dwarfed that of most other wizards, but he could not afford to relax yet.

Beside him, someone pulled out the other chair at his table and sat down. Harry glanced sideways and recognized Severus under the dark hood. Neither of them spoke. For once, they had agreed to help each other and pool their funds if absolutely necessary. Harry knew Snape was no pauper, but neither of them wanted to risk losing out simply because they'd been too arrogant to be prepared.

On the stage in front, the auction began. Spoils of war, sold off to fund various charities for orphans, widows and other victims of the war, in long line of strange artifacts, familiar heirlooms, antiques and antiquities, all went to the highest bidder. Harry was surprised at how high some of the prices went, and reasoned that many wizards with little in the way of family treasures were eager to purchase someone else's.

Hours passed. Complimentary drinks were passed out. Harry looked out the window as the sun set and the road became dark. His carriage waited outside for them, the black horses patiently standing at the ready, but they'd both brought their brooms along in case they had to abandon the carriage. Apparating was impossible on the auction house grounds, and while they did not expect trouble, too many ambushes and betrayals during the war had made them overly cautious.

Finally the stage was cleared of tables. Everyone sat straight. This was the part of the auction they'd been waiting for, and the clink of gold provided the backdrop as an unfamiliar witch was led out onto the stage. Dressed in black robes with one sleeve pinned up to reveal the dark mark, she stood unnaturally still and stared at nothing as the auctioneer began taking bids.

As the prices climbed, Harry felt his stomach turn. Severus had explained how the auction worked, but he'd also explained that while the wizarding community pretended that war spoils were treated more like house elves, the fact remained that they were little more than slaves. Beneath those robes, she wore nothing except the collar that would not come off until her master freed her, which would not be permitted legally for a year, and then perhaps would never happen at all.

Sold for five hundred galleons, she was told to step off the stage and sit by her new owner. Harry wasn't sure how she was controlled but it was as effective as an Imperio curse.

The next slave was brought out and Harry looked away. She was younger than Ginny. Still, the dark mark on her arm was proudly presented and the bidding continued, albeit at a slower rate. She only went for three hundred galleons and stepped down to sit by an older woman that Harry hoped was a family member.

And then Lucius Malfoy was brought out. The spells binding him were even more apparent when Harry compared his emotionless face with his memories, when, even under his mask, Lucius's emotions were always obvious. He still didn't like the man, but he'd been invaluable to them during the war. He'd never explained exactly why he'd changed allegiances, but he had, and been betrayed by the forces he'd helped to succeed.

As the bidding slowed down, Severus raised his hand at nine hundred galleons. A few other people bid, but it soon became a battle between him and someone Harry didn't recognize. He supposed it was impossible to know how many people Lucius had cursed or hexed over the years. No doubt the other person was out for revenge, but ultimately Severus did not need his help, winning Lucius for two thousand, five hundred galleons.

Lucius moved silently through the crowd and sat down next to Severus, who betrayed no emotion at his win. He had another fight to win.

A murmur went through the crowd as Draco was paraded onto the stage. He had no dark mark to show off, but he was a Malfoy, and that was good enough for the Ministry. Harry scowled as the bidding began, the prices quickly skyrocketing. Draco had helped him during the last fight, disarmed devious traps throughout Voldemort's stronghold, fought numerous death eaters, and battled his own fear to stand by him. This was no way to repay a comrade in arms and not for the first time he cursed the Ministry's petty spite.

Severus raised his hand to bid two thousand galleons. The bidding slowed down but climbed to three thousand before he bid again. As he went back and forth with another, he realized that whoever was on the other side of the room was the same person who'd bid on Lucius. Having lost the father, the man was far more tenacious for the son.

Four thousand. Four thousand five hundred. Five thousand. Five thousand three hundred. Five thousand seven hundred. Six thousand. Severus sighed and shook his head, meaning that Harry would have to try. It meant Lucius and Draco would have to stay in different homes, but it was far better than letting anyone else win. With any luck, they would not have to pool their money, which would only create more headaches for them. Six thousand. Six thousand three hundred. Harry grew impatient with the auctioneer's small increases and indicated with his hands ten thousand. Gasps went through the audience.

His opponent bid ten thousand three hundred. Harry raised to fifteen thousand. For a moment he thought the other man might bid again, but the auctioneer's voice rang clear as he declared the sale. Harry watched as Draco came through the room, sitting down next to him with damp eyes. Harry forced himself not to react. As strong as the curse binding him was, Draco was obviously aware of everything and incapable of saving himself.

Several more wizards and witches were sold before the auction ended. Harry and Severus both wrote out their promissory notes to the house and led their possessions out into the cold night air and into the waiting carriage. Only when they were on the road and the glow of the house's windows faded into the forest did they relax. Motioning for Harry to do the same, Severus raised his wand and tapped it once on Lucius' collar. The collar did not come off but the jinx holding him did. With a shuddering breath, he leaned against the carriage window, relishing the air going by.

Beside him, finally freed of his binding, Draco left his seat to sit on Harry's lap, throwing his arms around him while he tried to muffle his sobs in Harry's robes. Neither of them spoke. Lucius glanced at them and looked away.

"Potter..." he said softly. "You have my thanks."

Harry nodded once. He didn't know why Lucius and Severus didn't show any emotion, didn't even look at each other, but then he'd never understood their relationship. For them, perhaps being near each other was enough.

Between the muggle roads lay wizarding shortcuts, and they left the main road to travel through the forest, passing like a whisper for miles. No one spoke until they reached Severus' home, a dilapidated and run-down shack on the outside that, Harry knew, disguised a comfortable and expansive home inside. As the carriage stopped, Lucius glanced briefly at his son but said nothing.

"You remember the terms of the contract?" Severus said softly to Harry. "He must be yours for a year."

"I remember," Harry said, adjusting his hold on Draco. The young wizard had finally calmed down, resting quietly in his arms. "I'll owl you soon."

Severus gave a clipped nod and opened the carriage, stepping out first so he could help Lucius step down. Under the moonlight, Harry could see how the death eater had lost weight and strength during his brief time under the Ministry's thumb. No doubt Draco had suffered as well, perhaps even more.

The door closed and the carriage set off again. By the time it reached his home, Malfoy Manor newly stripped of all magic, Draco was fast asleep. As it pulled up to the front door, he carried Draco out and quickly walked inside with a brief thank you to the house elf holding the door.

Much of the furniture had been taken and sold at earlier auctions. The family portraits, burned. Any dark artifacts they'd managed to hold onto, destroyed. Every last defensive charm and trap had been dispelled. For now the manor was nearly empty, save for a few house elves and some purely utilitarian furniture in the dining room and bedroom, but he'd rather live in an empty house than furnish it and not have Draco inside.

Leaving the candles dark, he lay him down on the double bed and gently undid the robes, unsurprised to see that he wore nothing underneath except the thin black collar around his neck. Curious, Harry gently traced it with his fingers. As soft as velvet, it wrapped around Draco's throat with no clasp or seam. The charm holding it in place made it stronger than steel and, depending on the commands given, allowed its wearer nearly complete autonomy or reduced him to his original mindless state.

Draco woke up as Harry undressed, and he wordlessly watched him drop his clothes on the floor, to be picked up by an elf during the night. He waited for him to slide under the covers, and once Harry was comfortable, crept close to lay his head on his shoulder. Harry's arm curled around him and he looked out the window at the clouds passing over the stars, listening to the crickets in the garden.

"I knew you would come," he whispered. "I believed you would bring me home."

Harry didn't answer except to hold him tighter, and lightly stroke his hair until he fell asleep again.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Arguing voices woke Draco the next day. Alone in bed, he sat up and looked around. The curtains still covered the window and sunlight trickled in between the edges, but without a clock he had no idea of how late he'd slept in. Harry's voice grew louder, and Draco woke up a little more. If there was trouble, he needed to be alert. He didn't see his robes anywhere so he gathered the sheet around himself and walked towards the door, carefully opening it a few inches as he listened.

"You can forget about taking him back!" Harry said. "I bought him legally, he's mine."

"A noble gesture in the name of charity, I'm sure, but the hero of the wizarding society cannot be expected to take in a criminal--"

Draco swallowed reflexively. He didn't know the man's name but he knew his voice. It belonged to a Ministry official who often visited the cold dungeon beneath Azkaban where he and the other slaves had been kept, always walking between the tiny cells, commenting on how much he expected each prisoner to fetch at auction, which ones he would personally bid on and taunting his favorites. He especially loved to watch Draco as he sat shivering in the corner of his cell. The dementors floated amongst the condemned and he had used every bit of training Severus had taught him, concealing his emotions as the tall black creatures hovered around the Ministry official, all of them watching for the smallest sign of life from him.

"If you would simply be reasonable, we would be willing to reimburse you for your trouble--"

Trying to buy him back...they were trying to buy him back, he realized. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Foolish to think he'd escaped, he thought. The Ministry was full of spiteful, vengeful creatures eager to see a Malfoy, any Malfoy, on his knees and obedient. Not wanting to listen anymore, he crossed the room and sat on the windowsill.

Suddenly there was a burst of light and sound below. Eyes wide, Draco hurried to look through the curtains as the Ministry official flew backwards through the door, screaming as he cleared the gate and fell several feet to the hill that gently sloped down towards the village below. Head over heels he tumbled until he came to a rest at the bottom, and he staggered to his feet trying to brush the dirt and mud from his clothes. Harry's footsteps came up the stairs but Draco didn't turn to greet him, too entranced by the sight of the man running after his briefcase and hat as the house elf sent them sailing.

A warm body pressed against his and he leaned back, sighing as lay his head on Harry's shoulder. He didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was truly out of the Ministry's grasp as long as Harry had him.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"He'll be back, you know," Draco whispered.

"I know." Harry put his arms around him as he looked through window. Finally off the manor grounds, the man apparated away. "And I'll send him out again."

Draco glanced over his shoulder at him, but didn't answer

"I'm sorry," Harry said, tracing the dark circles under Draco's eyes with his thumb. "You should go back to sleep. There shouldn't be anymore shouting until this evening."

Frowning, Draco pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. To his dismay, Harry looked embarrassed. He'd discovered that an embarrassed Gryffindor meant that Harry had done something stupid and knew it, but was still going to do it because it was noble or loyal or some ridiculous mix of the two.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I've invited Ron and Hermione," Harry said, speaking faster when he saw the horror spreading over Draco's face. "I had to, we're already in today's Prophet and I need to explain everything to them."

"The Weasel and the mudblood?" Draco gasped, backing out of his arms. "In the manor? Why? So they can gawk and laugh at me? See the Malfoys brought low?"

Harry grimaced at hearing his lover's language. During the war, Draco had caused more fights in the order's headquarters than they waged against death eaters, all because no matter what side he fought on, his hatred of muggles and blood traitors was firmly entrenched.

"It's not like that--" he started, but Draco cut him off.

"You know what Weasley's like! You know Granger will rub it in my face! They hate me, they've always hated me and now you're bringing them here when I can't fight back and -- oh God, I don't even have my wand!"

His lover had thrown tantrums before, but never like this. Harry stared in surprise as Draco's outburst turned shrill, but for all the shrieking he saw the tears welling up in Draco's eyes and saw how the sheet was going to tear if he pulled it any tighter around himself. He grabbed the sheet and yanked him forward against himself, wrapping his arms around him and refusing to let go as Draco squirmed. After several seconds of struggling, Draco stopped yelling and stood still, not crying yet but breathing unevenly.

"No one will see you," Harry said soothingly. "I'm not bringing them up here."

"Don't bring them here at all," Draco muttered, without much of a hope he'd be listened to.

"I have to," Harry said. "I lied to them and I have to explain why."

Draco's breathing stayed harsh but he didn't pull away either. "You lied?"

"I told them I was fetching something from my old house. They didn't know I was..." His voice trailed.

"That you were going to an auction?" Draco whispered. He leaned back as far as Harry would let him and looked into his eyes. "To buy a slave?"

"That's not fair--" Harry protested.

"No shit." Draco leaned against him again and closed his eyes. Although his voice wavered, it was calm again as his panic abated. "You have to face it. You bought me."

"I didn't have a choice!" Harry grimaced and tried to reign in his temper. "That bastard nearly won you! If I hadn't bought you, you'd belong to him now and God knows what he'd do to you."

"You wouldn't have tried to save me?" Draco whispered. "You defeated a dark lord but you're afraid of what the Ministry would say?"

Sometimes Harry forgot that his lover was a Malfoy. Never for long, though. Even under duress, there was always an agenda, and Draco's love for him only included him in his plans. And the Malfoys had always hated the Ministry.

"It didn't come to that."

"But--"

"There are laws," Harry said, "laws we fought to save. So many people died to keep this world safe."

"Doesn't mean we can't improve it." Draco sighed and stepped back. His face was flushed and dark circles visibly ringed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...I...I'm tired."

"It's all right." Harry brushed the blonde hair with his fingers. "I promise, it'll all be all right. I won't let anything bad happen to you, I swear."

Weary of his lover's loyalty but knowing he couldn't fight it, Draco nodded. "I believe you." And as devious and scheming as Malfoy could be, Draco's gray eyes held nothing but a trust so absolute that it almost frightened Harry. It was the same unwavering belief that let them swear allegiances to dark lords at the cost of nearly everything they loved. Being loved by a Malfoy meant they would scream at you, demand things of you, kill in your name and yet understand you more completely than any other person in the world. And Harry knew if he ever betrayed that, Draco's heart would not only shatter, but he'd never be able to mend it again.

After a moment Draco broke away and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think I need more sleep. I normally don't throw tantrums so early in the morning."

"Yes you do," Harry said, but there was no anger in him. He sat down beside him and touched his hand. "But you've been through a lot. I can hardly blame you for being scared."

Draco didn't respond. He squeezed Harry's hand once as if to reassure himself that it was real and then lay down in bed, pulling the blankets over himself. Harry's fingers brushed over his hair again and he sighed.

"Do you think I could visit my mother today?" he whispered.

"I..." Harry hesitated. "Tomorrow. The new clothes I bought for you haven't arrived yet and I don't want the press to know where we're going, so I'll have to set up a distraction and--"

"I know," Draco said tiredly, upset by the usual tricks Harry had to play on the Daily Prophet simply to go out. "But...tomorrow then?"

Harry nodded once. "I promise."

Satisfied with that, Draco turned his head slightly toward the pillow and stared out the window. Blocked by the curtain, the sunlight only made the room a little brighter, just enough to know it was day outside. Which wasn't right. His old curtains were thick enough to block out all of the light so that he'd needed a candle to see. Somewhere his curtains hung in someone else's house, next to the antique furniture. The Persian rugs his mother bought were gone, leaving the floor's original wood revealed. Even the light fixtures had been stripped down.

He was proud that he held back until Harry had left the room before he started crying. No gulping sobs or loud wails came out, just uneven breath and sniffling. He turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He'd helped save the world, risked his life and protected Harry's during the final fight. He hadn't even been a death eater. And this was his reward?

As he cried, his hands tightened into fists and his eyes narrowed even as he curled up. Maybe Harry would rather retreat into seclusion and ignore the rest of the world forever, but Draco knew that would be impossible. The Ministry's inevitable return to attempt to claim him aside, he knew that no matter how deep and dark the hole Harry dug for himself, the world would find him and drag him back out again, if only to parade him around like a hero. They would make pretenses, claims for a good cause, promises to try to change society if he would just make an appearance, give an interview, say a word.

He lightly touched the velvet collar running around his throat. The good wizards of the world had taken nearly everything away from him and given him a year of slavery in return. No doubt they wanted him to suffer, wanted his father to suffer, wanted to destroy the Malfoy legacy and erase their name from memory. But no matter how they stripped bare the manor or attacked his family, they couldn't take away his pride or his nature. And he had not only Harry Potter as his lover, but he had Severus and his father as well.

He stroked the velvet collar thoughtfully. They had given him a year as a slave, forgetting in their zeal to humiliate him that they had given him the strongest protection against them possible.

Harry would keep him safe. And Draco swore he would make the Ministry scream.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

A rough hand, calloused from hard work, lightly touched his cheek. Draco sighed and turned his face towards Harry's palm, and didn't move as his lover's thumb brushed over his lips and gently tipped his mouth open. Harry's hand twisted the clasp on Draco's robe, undoing it. The cloth slid off his shoulders and pooled around his feet. He wore nothing underneath and he lowered his gaze to the floor, his face turning pink as his lover looked over him. Grasping Harry's robes, he hissed as those rough hands held his hips and pulled him close, running freely over his own unmarked skin.

And then Harry tapped his wand on the ribbon around Draco's throat, and the cold grip of the full restraint charm washed over Draco, leaving him paralyzed and expressionless as Harry turned and walked away without a look back. Darkness covered him and he tried to scream, but he simply stood statue-like as if in a tomb. Alone and forgotten, he couldn't even cry.

Draco woke up gasping and he instinctively clutched at the warm body beside him. At first he thought he was back in his dark cell beneath Azkaban, but here he had a blanket and a soft bed beneath him. Instead of dementors floating nearby, he heard grasshoppers chirping outside. He sat up and looked around the room lit by moonlight, recognizing it even though it was nearly devoid of furniture. He looked down at the man beside him. Without his glasses, Harry looked strange and unfamiliar.

The sudden jolt of his lover waking up roused Harry, and he blinked sleepily. "Draco? You all right? What time is it?"

"Don't know," Draco whispered. He let go a deep breath and lay back down, cuddling up against Harry's side and throwing both his arm and leg over him. To his relief, he felt Harry put his arms around him and kiss the top of his head.

"Nightmare?"

"Mm." He stared at the silver light coming from the window like the outside world forcing its way into their dark, comfortable room. "I love you."

As always, Harry didn't answer, but Draco didn't expect him to. After he'd discovered how the hero of the wizarding world had grown up, despised by his family and friendless until he reached Hogwarts, he accepted that he would have to be the demonstrative one. Harry might kiss or hold him, but that came out of Harry's desire to touch him and not out of any desire to reassure Malfoy that he loved him. Draco had resigned himself to his lover's lack of romantic grace. It was the price of loving Potter and it wasn't easy trying to bridge that gap. His parents, while loving, had not been warm or effusive, and he often had to force himself to tell Harry he loved him. Conversations in bed were still new to both of them.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"You...you wouldn't put me completely under this charm again, would you?"

"Charm?" Harry frowned in confusion but he soon realized what Draco meant. "You mean turn you into that doll again, like you were in the auction house? No...never. I promise."

Draco didn't want to ask the next question but he had to. He wouldn't stop thinking about it until he did. "And you wouldn't give me away?"

"Of course not," Harry said, raising his voice. "You're mine."

Both of them winced, and Harry sighed and held him a little tighter. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean that how it sounded."

"...it's all right. I know what you meant." He nestled close against his lover, hiding his face in the crook of Harry's neck. Nowhere felt safer than in Potter's arms. Within them, he was safe from dark lords and evil spells. But he wasn't sure that he was safe from the Ministry. He half-closed his eyes and drowsed, preferring to stay awake than risk dreaming again. "You met with Granger and Weasley?"

"...yeah."

The hesitant reply told Draco he shouldn't ask any more about that. There'd probably been an argument and knowing those two, every single one of his faults and sins had been detailed, every reason that Harry should give up his new acquisition laid out. It wasn't surprising. He'd never given them a reason to like him. They still wondered what on earth Harry saw in 'an arrogant, scheming bastard who'd hadn't renounced the dark lord's plans or methods, but simply joined the winning side'." Which wasn't wrong, really. After switching sides and offering up a bit of Voldemort's soul as a gesture of good will, he'd been just as petty and vicious to everyone around him as before. And why should he have stopped? He enjoyed being spiteful and everyone who considered themself a 'good guy' was equally cruel in return.

Until one day Lupin had requested he make a particularly dangerous potion. Severus had been gone for weeks and without him, Draco was their best brewer. Working late at night in the kitchen at Grimauld Place, carefully adding one poison after another into the cauldron, Draco created a flawless batch of Adder's Nightmares while fighting the vapors that steamed up around him. It wasn't until the next morning when he couldn't wake up that Harry realized what risks Draco had been taking to create each potion they demanded of him.

As sick as he'd been from handling so much poison and breathing in the fumes as they boiled, Draco's memories of being weak in bed were some of his fondest. He'd been miserable at first, and since Harry was usually kept safe at the house while everyone else had Order duties to tend to, Harry was the one who stayed by his side.

"Draco?" Harry whispered. His knew his lover wasn't asleep and he worried whenever his Malfoy was too quiet. "Are you all right?"

"Just remembering..." Draco reached down and tugged the blankets back up to his shoulder. As warm as Harry was, the night was cold. "When I was sick at the Black house. And you took care of me."

"I remember that. You know, when you're too sick to be mean, you're actually pretty nice."

"Am I really that mean?" Draco whispered. He closed his eyes but had no intention of falling back asleep yet.

"You're horrible," Harry said. "You made Hermione cry and made me defend you from Ron, and you never stopped making dog jokes around Remus. You insulted Arthur every day and I think Molly wanted to beat you to death with her pots and pans. And poor Tonks..."

"I regret nothing regarding that blood-traitor," Draco said.

"Draco..."

"She started it," he said.

"She was just saying hello!"

"No, she said she was happy that we'd renounced our evil ways and decided to help you win against the forces of darkness." Leaning up on his elbows, he stared into Harry's eyes. "And you know she was wrong, Harry. You know we're still dark, we'll always be dark. For her to start on as if we'd change our entire lives to suit her whims--"

"I know," Harry said, putting his fingers on Draco's lips. "That really was stupid of her."

"They've always hated us," Draco mumbled. "They won't stop until we're all dead."

Harry didn't agree, but there was no point arguing when Draco believed it. And after the Ministry's actions while Harry had been in a deep sleep following the final battle, he had to admit Draco's fears held some truth. If he was honest with himself, he also knew that Draco had history on his side, the real history, not the endless useless conflicts with goblins, giants and centaurs that the Ministry put in the books, but Harry couldn't bring himself to believe that the wizarding world was so corrupt that it would willingly act even more despicably than Voldemort.

Because if he ever believed that, he would wonder if Draco was right that the Ministry should be destroyed. And that chain of thought would lead him down a very dark road indeed.

"I won't let anything bad happen ever again," Harry said. "I promise."

Draco gave him a suspicious look. "You might find that promise hard to keep."

"Doesn't matter." Harry reached up and gently pulled Draco back down again, running his fingers through his hair. After years of being the Dursley's whipping boy and then his yearly school adventures, his hands were well calloused and scarred. To his hands, touching Draco's hair felt like stroking a cloud. "I'll keep you safe forever, no matter what."

"I believe you." Pillowing his head on Harry's shoulder, Draco gave a small smile. And then in a soft voice that Harry couldn't hear, he added, "I'm counting on it."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Cold constant rain drizzled on the carriage as they rode out, disappearing into the forest before the Daily Prophet photographers camping out around the manor could snap a single shot. Quietly travelling through the forests surrounding the manor, the carriage whisked its passengers through magical shortcuts that jumped miles at a time, taking them swiftly to an unplotted hill in the countryside. Driverless, the horses stopped dutifully at the bottom of the hill and waited, heads down, for their next order.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Harry whispered.

Leaning against his shoulder, Draco breathed out and shook his head. "I shouldn't be long." He pulled his hood over his head so he wouldn't get wet.

With white lilies gathered in his arms, he stepped out of the carriage and walked up the hill, careful not to slip on the grass. A black iron fence circled the hilltop and ended in an imposing gate with an ancient padlock on the front, but a light touch of his hand made it click open. The gate swung back silently and he stepped in, looking around briefly. He hadn't been here in years. The oak tree to one side still bore no leaves and the statues were all weathered so that the angels had no faces and the skeletons looked like gray dolls. Icy wind blew the rain against him but he hardly noticed. On this hill, the wind and rain never stopped.

Passing several different stones so old that rain had worn the names off, he came to the last and most recent one. He knelt in front of it, tracing the inscription Narcissa Malfoy, Beloved Mother and Wife, May the Night Shelter Her Soul. And gently he set the lilies beneath her headstone.

For months during the war and then for long nights in the Azkaban cell, he'd imagined finally saying goodbye to her at her grave, of saying everything he hadn't had a chance to before. Her death had been so sudden, the first to die when Voldemort's loyal death eaters surprised members of the Order in what they'd thought had been a secure house. Everyone in the attack died, Order and death eater alike, and no one had known about it until the next day when Tonks appeared in the fireplace in a house of corpses.

Now that he was faced with her grave, however, he found that he couldn't say anything. He'd imagined talking to the stone, pouring out his grief the way he'd done when she was alive and she could somehow make everything all right again. During war, ghosts became common, flitting from room to room no matter what house he stayed in, and he'd imagined perhaps even meeting her ghost here in this cemetery for dark wizards. But faced with her name on a cold piece of stone, he couldn't speak. She wasn't in the stone, she was in the ground six feet beneath him, and she was gone.

Having mourned her for so long already, he no longer had tears to shed. He stood and turned back towards the carriage, and the gate closed behind him. When he stepped back into the carriage, setting his dripping cloak aside, Harry looked curious at how fast the visit had been but he said nothing except to tell the horses to drive on to London. The convoluted route they would have to take to and through the city just to avoid muggle traffic meant that they would have to ride an extra hour, but neither really minded. The interior of the carriage was comfortably lush and the seats were wide enough that Harry could turn and put his legs up with his back against the side wall. From the other seat, Draco watched him until he settled down and then crossed over, crawling into Harry's lap and laying down in his arms.

Warm as the carriage was, the chilly air still crept in and cut across him. Shivering, he curled against Harry's body and lay his head on his chest, not caring if he was pressing his lover uncomfortably into the wall. When used as a large pillow, Harry rarely complained anyway. Either he was afraid any complaint would send Draco into a tantrum, which was entirely possible, or he'd been so deprived of touch during his childhood that he relished it now, even if it was uncomfortable. If that was true, Draco was quite willing to take advantage of it.

He knew that Harry usually wore a cloak charmed to keep him warm. In fact, he'd insisted he buy it and nearly made a scene at the store when his lover initially balked. Of course now Harry rarely went out without it, and a quick glance at the hem of his cloak confirmed it. He probably would have noticed earlier but the unenchanted, run of the mill robes he'd been presented with in the morning had distracted him. Catching the edge of the cloak, he pulled the excess over himself.

"Cold?" Harry asked. Without waiting for an answer, he smoothed it out over Draco and pulled some of the cloth caught between him and the seat out, draping it over Draco's shoulders.

Smiling appreciatively, Draco burrowed down and closed his eyes. "Not now."

"We'll get you one, too," Harry promised. "And real robes, the kind you like. I would've sent for something better, but I don't know how to shop the way you do."

Draco looked up with a furrowed brow and Harry explained.

"You know how to shop at those fancy clothes places that don't have anything hanging up, or how to talk to those women in the shops that try to make you buy things." Harry gave a half-shrug. "I still don't know how we're going to get you new clothes. I have a ton of galleons in the vault but I don't know how to go about it--"

Smiling, Draco closed his eyes again and relaxed. "You'll learn. Just let me do all the talking."

"Will..." Harry hesitated, loathe to bring it up. "Will they listen to you now?"

"Yes. Although I am your slave--" Draco swallowed down his hate at that word "--we will say that you bought me as your personal assisstant. After all, you grew up among muggles completely ignorant of your wealth and status. How can you possibly be expected to know the intricacies of wizard culture?"

"And I would buy the boy who tormented me through school because?"

"I don't suppose they would believe perfect Potter would go in for personal revenge," Draco mused. "Even though you can be vindictive when you put your mind to it."

"I can't help if I get angry sometimes," Harry said, bristling. "Besides, it's not that often."

"Forgive me, but since I'm on the receiving end of it most of the time, it seems like more to me." He put his fingertips on Harry's to shush his retort and couldn't help his smile as Harry fell silent. Slave or not, re-establishing his place in Harry's life made him feel a little more secure. Despite as cruel as he'd been to him in the past, or perhaps because he'd been so cruel, he got away with much more than he should have. Maybe his lover just liked having someone who didn't care that he was the Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Wizarding World, and Would-be Pawn of the Ministry. When the whole world wanted to fawn over him and try to manipulate him behind his back, his Malfoy treated him almost the same as he had in Hogwarts. Harry was special not because of his scar but because Draco loved him, and where the Ministry pretended that its machinations had Harry's best interests at heart, Draco saw no need to pretend that he wasn't trying to manipulate him because he truly did have Harry's best interests at heart. Harry was his puppet that often refused to do what he was told, and he loved him all the more for his resistance.

Draco had a feeling Harry still didn't understand how that worked, just that it did. He reached down towards Harry's hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the rough callouses.

"Say you bought me because you honestly want to try to rehabilitate me. I was simply a victim of my father's radical politics and may yet turn to the light, if only someone might treat me with a firm but kind hand. After all, I never took the mark, did I?"

"They'll never believe me," Harry said. "Especially not anyone who fought alongside us. You were rather vocal about being openly dark."

"Then say you bought me because I match the furniture," Draco said.

"Draco..." Harry said in warning.

"All right," he sighed. "Say this...you feel more comfortable with a slave that you know a little bit rather than some strange dark wizard you've never seen before. And that you have to admit that owning your former school enemy gives you a small twinge of satisfaction. They'll love that part, it sounds just human enough for saintly Potter." He half-smiled. "And say that you've decided you'll keep me for a long time to come, forever even."

"That's horrible!" Harry put his hand under Draco's chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "Even if they'd believe it, I can't say you're my slave forever. That's awful."

"Harry..." Draco gave him a familiar look with his eyes half-closed in sheer confidence. "In a year's time, when you take this collar off and I'm free again, can you honestly say that you'll let me walk out the manor door?"

No answer. The only sound in the carriage was the soft pounding of the horses' hooves outside. Slow recognition spread over Harry's face as he considered the question, and he smiled.

"No. You're right. I'll never let you go." He brushed his fingertips over Draco's cheek and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Ever."

"Of course I'm right. I always am." The smile left his face and he stared hard at Harry, his humor replaced by sincerity. "I'm wearing two collars, you know. One that comes off in a year. And one...one that'll never come off."

Harry nodded once in understanding. "When do you think you first put that one on?"

"In Grimmauld place, when a light wizard broke tradition and helped save a dark wizard's life. I would've died if you hadn't been there, Potter. No one else would've nursed me back to life like you did."

As much as he wanted to argue that anyone in the Order would have done the same, Harry knew better. He'd believed in their absolute altruism until later, when they'd all found out what he'd done for Draco. They had complemented him on his nobility, his willingness to help "absolutely anyone," and his success in saving a useful tool in the war. But as for saving Draco Malfoy, the person...it wasn't even discussed. And when he and Draco began sitting closer, chatting amicably, touching in public, the Order's desperate finite incantatems and accusations of love potions flew like frenzied owls.

"Do they still think I trapped you in a love spell?" Draco whispered.

Harry nodded once. "Ron even brought it up yesterday. He said I should give you up."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That you did nothing of the sort and that I'll hurt anyone who tries to take you away."

Draco quickly lowered his head to hide his smile, and he kept kissing Harrys' hand to hide the sudden move. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Of course he would have to keep Harry safe in his own way, he couldn't scheme plot after plot without taking some precautions for his overly noble lover, but when attacking both dark lords and Ministry bureaucrats, he'd decided it was best to hide behind Harry's wand.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Few people in the world knew about the narrow shop near the end of Diagon Alley. With an entrance reserved for horse-drawn carriages, the clientele of Mareschal's Fitting were sorted from the common wizards and witches by simple lack of advertising. Only those who could afford their prices knew about it, and for all their lack of customers, the store profitted more than any other in the alley.

When the carriage came to a stop, Draco immediately moved to open the door, but he hesitated and looked back at Harry. "Remember, follow at my shoulder, don't speak, just--"

"Nod once whenever someone talks to me," Harry said with an impatient sigh. "I haven't forgotten since you told me five minutes ago."

"And try not to look too lost," Draco added. "Bad enough you've never been here before, but if you look like a lost kitten, you'll be lucky if they only take your money."

"That's what you're here for," Harry said. "To show me how this is done."

"Oh Harry..." Draco shook his head in mock wonder. "I'm a wizard, not a miracle worker."

Before Harry could reply, Draco opened the door for his master and stood back to let him out onto the step. The horses began to walk on and Harry nearly turned to call them back, but Draco stepped forward quickly and whispered in his ear. "Relax, they'll come back when we're done."

The two main doors were shadowed as if the store were closed, but Draco opened them anyway and ushered Harry through, then followed dutifully at his shoulder. Unchanged by the war, the store was just as he remembered it. Shelves held samples of expensive perfumes, antique jewelry and a few other items that the Ministry was paid not to notice. Several doors along the wall held generous changing rooms. Along one wall stood several racks of robes in various styles. The rest of the store was a well decorated conglomeration of thick carpets, fine paintings, rich furnishings, and candlelight atmosphere designed to impress its customers of the shop's wealth and place in the world.

"Ah, at last," came a middle aged wizard from his place in the center of the shop. Harry wondered if he stood there all day until someone came inside. "At last I can claim the great Harry Potter as a customer. Sir, you honor me with your presence."

Nodding once and relieved that he wouldn't have to talk, Harry watched Draco take a step forward and address the man, eyes cast dutifully downwards as he gave a small bow. "My master requires a wardrobe befitting his status. Please see to his measurements, comforts and preferences."

The shop keeper turned his attention to Draco, his expression subtly changing. Draco couldn't see it though he imagined it was there, but Harry felt his heart quicken as Mareschal's polite smile turned into a leer. Anyone else might have missed it, but having dealt with spies from both sides during the war, Harry had learned the tell-tale signs of hidden emotion. Mareschal reached his hand out to touch Draco's collar, entranced by the rare sight of a young slave and emboldened by the fact that it was a Malfoy.

Before he realized it, Harry had seized Mareschal's hand an inch from Draco's collar with bruising strength. He didn't let go until Mareschal met his eyes and his silent warning.

"Forgive me, sir," the shopkeep said, his eyes wide. "I intended no disrespect."

Without a word, Harry released him.

Humble bows, Draco thought as he smiled at the floor, might have been intended to humiliate slaves, but they were one of the best assets for a proud piece of property when he needed to hide an un-humiliated grin. The message was clear, Harry Potter was a jealous master and his slave was not to be touched. Considering what a gossip the old man could be when not carefully bribed, no doubt that information would spread throughout the upper echelons of society, and from there to the Ministry and below.

After escorting them both into the first dressing room, the shopkeep went about measuring Harry for tailored robes. Draco stood with his back against a corner, watching him work and smiling at his lover, who impatiently fidgeted and took turns glaring at Draco for insisting on this and at the mirror, cursing his reflection for how self-conscious he felt. He then had to sit through the sampling of the different fabrics and styles, and finally Draco listed the enchantments that would be laid upon each robe. Harry thought he would die of boredom, but Draco looked absolutely at ease.

By the time the tailor gave them a price, they heard the doors chime, signaling another customer. The shopkeep quickly bundled his parchment and quill with his measuring tape and smiled at Harry. "I will get to these immediately, sir. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they should be ready within the day. If you like, I could have them wrapped and sent to your residence?"

Not knowing what else to do, Harry was about to nod, but Draco beat him to the reply.

"Please have them waiting and ready. My master has further business in town and will return before the day's end to collect them."

"As you wish. Shall I escort you out?"

Keeping in step at Harry's side, Draco glanced up at the other customer and froze as he watched the ministry official who'd tried to buy him back stand by the jewelry as if examining the watches. When the man saw Harry and Draco emerge, however, he began walking towards them.

Keenly feeling the loss of his wand, Draco took a step back and stumbled into Harry's arms. Surprised, he turned his head to look up at Harry, but his master stood with an expression more at home on a dark lord's face than the wizarding world's champion. He would have been afraid if Harry had been looking at him. Instead, he gave a small breath of relief.

"Mr. Kernwall," Harry ground out.

"Mr. Potter," the official said pleasantly. "How fortuitous to meet you here."

"I'm sure fortune had nothing to do with it," Harry said. "If you'll excuse us."

Harry's arms gently turned Draco towards the door, and after a moment's disorientation, Draco obeyed. He felt a little better knowing that Harry stayed between him and the official, and by the time their carriage came around and stopped before them, he was recovered enough to open the door and follow Harry inside again.

As soon as the door shut, he was pulled into Harry's lap and held tightly. Startled at first, he relaxed and half-closed his eyes, letting his master hold him. "It's all right. He didn't do anything."

"I didn't think he'd follow us," Harry whispered. "I didn't think he'd be so bold."

"They make the laws, why shouldn't they be bold?" Draco smiled and put a hand on Harry's. "Come on now, you should be comforting me, not the other way around."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice muffled in Draco's hair. "I thought he might, I don't know, apparate, port-key somewhere with you."

"He might try it some day," Draco said. "If not him, then someone else. Don't ever let me out of your sight, not even for a moment."

"I'll never let anyone touch you," Harry promised. He sighed and slowly relaxed as a different part of Diagon Alley appeared in the carriage windows. The street that had dazzled him when he was eleven years old looked far different when viewed from a carriage. The people looked smaller, the shops looked mundane and dingy. Most of the damage from the war was not repaired, so burned out buildings and black craters where spells had blown out the cobblestones dotted the street. If the carriage hadn't been charmed to ride smoothly, the trip would've been very bumpy.

"So," Harry said. "What was this other business you told Mareschal we had?"

"We didn't have breakfast." Draco took a deep breath and turned in Harry's arms so he could see his face. "I thought we might stop somewhere for lunch."

"That sounds good to me. Where would you like?"

"The Wild Hunt would be best, I think," Draco said softly, glancing at the carriage floor as he spoke.

Harry frowned. He had no idea what the Wild Hunt was, but anytime Draco looked away, he grew suspicious. His lover liked to think he was a great manipulator, but in truth his Malfoy often found manipulating him extremely difficult. Of course he knew Draco could manipulate other people very well, but when it came to Harry, Draco seemed to turn a little self-conscious. Harry wasn't sure, but he liked to think it was because Draco ultimately didn't like manipulating his lover.

"I've never heard of that," he said. "Where is it?"

"The far end of Knockturn Alley." Draco winced at Harry's widening eyes. "Please, just give it a try. It's quiet and it has private booths and no one will bother us, I swear."

Harry hesitated. "It's a dark shop, isn't it?"

Draco gave a tiny nod. "Please? If we go anywhere else in Hogsmeade, they'll all stare."

The black collar around his slave's neck seemed to stand out on Draco's pale throat, even though it was half covered by the top of his robe. Harry touched it with his fingertips. "All right. But if anyone tries to hex the food, we're leaving."

Down Knockturn Alley they rode, and while witches and wizards ducked out of the way of their carriage, Draco pointed out the different shops that Harry had never heard of, Bathory's Body Works which Draco said sold lotions and perfumes, Gogmagog Grog, an alehouse of ill repute, and Sorileja's Book Repository, which Harry thought he should take Hermione to now that he knew about it. Towards the far end of the alley the carriage came to a stop at the Wild Hunt, not at the front door but at the side where a raised platform gave easy access to a separate entrance.

This time Draco did not have to open the door. An attendant in fine green robes opened the door for them and escorted them inside the foyer. Curtains covered several doorways, but if Harry hadn't known that this establishment catered to dark wizards, he would have thought it was a normal restaurant.

"A private table," Draco said softly to their waiter. "Completely private, if possible."

Nodding once, the attendant lead them away from the sounds of boisterous conversation in the next room and instead took them upstairs. Through sheer black curtains Harry briefly spotted a large dining area with several wizards and witches seated, but none of them saw him.

"The veils are one way," Draco whispered to him. "They can't see us back here."

"What kind of restaurant is this?" Harry asked.

"The kind where you don't have to worry about people watching you."

In the upstairs section, they walked past several private booths separated by curtains. At last they stopped at an empty booth and sat down on comfortably padded seats and two menus already on the table. The attendant closed the curtain and they were entirely alone.

"It's so quiet," Harry murmured as he picked up his menu. To his dismay, he didn't recognize any of the dishes. They all had strange names like Gwydion's Cauldron, Lyfael's Spear and Sword, and Sweet Song of Taliesin.

"No one can hear in or out," Draco said. "If you like, we could start one of their music charms." Amongst the jumble of napkins, sugar and a little sign advertising a colorful alcoholic drink, Draco touched a white ornament that Harry had mistaken for a salt shaker. Instantly soft flutes and string instruments played in the background.

Knowing that they were sitting in a dark wizard hangout, no matter how fine the decor, made Harry uneasy, but the nervous look in Draco's eyes made him smile. He reached over the table and put his hands over Draco's.

"It's fine," he said, stroking the back of his lover's hand. "You come here often?"

The moment he said it, Harry winced, but Draco's smile turned crooked and he slid one hand free from Harry's, trailing a finger over the black glasses and ending on his master's lips.

"I'll always know I'm your first and only, Potter," he whispered. "There's no way you practiced your seductive charms on anyone else."

Harry kissed his fingertip. "Why practice when I caught the best the first time?"

"Flatterer," Draco said, glancing down at the table as if looking for crumbs or rough edges, trying to hide the pink flush across his cheeks.

"Fair skin always gives you away." Harry put his hand under Draco's chin and made him look up. "You never blush around anyone else. Is it just an act for me?"

Draco's blush deepened. "I don't have to act around you. I think you're the only person I never had to lie to."

"Of course you didn't have to lie," Harry said. "You were quite open about being mean."

"And who's fault is that?" Draco asked. "I tried to be nice when we met. You're the one who turned me down."

"You were a little terror," Harry said, smiling despite himself. "And you've hardly changed. You're still a manipulative, spoiled brat."

"And you love it," Draco murmured.

"Every bit," Harry said. "I never thought I'd be in love with my Malfoy. You never blushed back then, now that I think about it."

"And why would I?" He half-shrugged and tilted his head into Harry's hand, closing his eyes. "Who was there to make me blush?"

"Oh?" Now Harry's smile turned crooked. "You didn't practice your seductive charms on anyone?"

"Unlike you, Potter, I never needed any practice."

"Cheeky." Harry turned the menu towards him. "You're so smart, then tell me what these weird names mean."

"Hm? Oh!" Draco chuckled. "I forgot you wouldn't know some of our references. Just tell me what you'd like. They have almost everything here."

"You go ahead and order for me," Harry said. "Just...something simple."

When the waiter came back and took their order, Harry wondered what two orders of Morrigan's Children were, half-expecting something bloody and poisoned to arrive on his plate. Instead what quickly popped in front of him on the table was a pair of small roasted birds that looked like pheasants on a bed of vegetables. He looked up and found Draco watching him with a bemused expression.

"Did you think it would be terrible?" Draco asked. "Real children, perhaps?"

"Ah...something like that," Harry said, smiling sheepishly.

"Really, you must learn to trust me."

"You've tried to trick me more times I can count," Harry argued. "And succeeded quite a few times."

A laugh escaped before Draco could squash it. "Yes, I have, haven't I?" Then he leaned forward across the table, pushing his plate out of the way and stealing a kiss before Harry could pull back in surprise. When he eased back, still close enough to gaze into his master's eyes, every trace of humor was gone.

"I can't help what I am," he whispered. "I'm a Malfoy, made of nothing but bad faith. But no matter how I trick you, I'll never hurt you."

The first time Draco had ever admitted his failings and feelings, sitting beside him in the Grimmauld living room when they were alone, Harry had felt a rush of fear. Fear of the intensity of Draco's emotions, but also fear of his own provoked emotions. He had a member of the Malfoy family, the monsters of the Ministry and veritable demons of dark magic, as his all too devoted lover. If Malfoys were made of bad faith, it was bad in that it burned bright and consumed them until they could see nothing else, devoting their hearts to terrible causes and lovers alike.

He reached up and put a hand behind Draco's head, holding him still as he stole the kiss back. "I know." He refused to let go for a moment, staring into his slave's grey eyes, forcing himself to meet the almost fanatical devotion there. Frightening, but exhilarating, too.

"You're so strange," he murmured. "Do you trick me because you love me?"

"Yes," Draco said. "Because I want to keep you alive."

Turning that thought over in his head, Harry gently brushed Draco's cheek with his fingertips. That Malfoy was so honest about his dishonesty didn't surprise him. That he was beginning to feel comforted by Malfoy's trickery did.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

****

Part 6

Harry knew something was wrong when he walked back into Mareschal's Fitting, but he didn't know what. Surviving the war gave him a feeling for when someone lied to him, either outright or by omission, and there was nothing honest in the shopkeep's attitude toward him now. Harry determined to simply pay for his parcel and leave.

To his annoyance, the old man insisted that he try at least one of his new robes on just to be sure that the measurements were correct, and more annoyingly, Draco agreed. Fortunately Marschal did not insist on watching him try it on and Draco's explanation that "my master treasures his privacy" allowed him to duck inside the fitting room, his slave at his heels.

Draco smiled as he pulled the robe from its paper cover. "Really, Harry, you're so shy."

"Don't you start," Harry said. He unbuttoned his robes and then the muggle shirt he usually wore underneath, but he didn't take off either, still too uncomfortable undressing in public. "You must be feeling better if you're teasing me."

Holding the robe in his arms, Draco's laughed once. "If you think I'm getting too uppity, there are punish...punishments...I mean, you could--" His voice thickened until he couldn't speak, and his smile faltered. He looked away as he struggled to get his breathing back under control.

Harry cupped his hand around Draco's face, gently tilting his head up. Two tears fell down his cheeks.

"No," Harry murmured. "Never. Not even as some bedroom kink."

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "I thought I could--"

"Joke about it?" Harry asked. "I couldn't handle this as well as you have. I know I act like a cold bastard sometimes, but I can see you're hurting. You don't have to pretend you're not."

Draco swallowed once. "You're not cold," he mumbled.

"I don't know how to touch you," Harry said. "You're the first person who ever held me like that, who kissed me. But everytime I try to hold you, I feel awkward."

Draco couldn't deny it. Having a lover who didn't know how to comfort or reassure didn't make slavery any easier. He let the robe slip from his hands onto the floor, which was enough to prompt Harry to hold him. The embrace came tentatively, as if Harry didn't know where to put his arms, but Draco leaned against him and after a few seconds, his master relaxed a little. Draco closed his eyes. If he didn't look, he could imagine they were back in Grimmauld Place in the parlor, before anyone came downstairs, giving them a few seconds to themselves. A quiet lull in the war and the silence of the house in the early morning was his happiest memory, and the world disappeared for a moment as he listened to Harry's heart.

But just for a moment. Malfoy moods swung fast, and soon Draco took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped back, running his hand through his hair to fingercomb it back into place.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't expect it to hit that bad."

"Don't apologize," Harry said. "I'll be here when it hits again."

And it would, Draco knew. Knowing how this year would affect him was impossible. His family grew emotional over the smallest things, so that minor inconveniences could send them into rages and little hurts multiplied until their world was ending. A leash, even if it was Harry who held the leash, could potentially strangle him.

"Severus called us tempests in teapots," he said. "A lot of noise and boiling over, and then it's done."

"Snape might be an expert on Malfoys," Harry replied, "but I've seen you and your father both get mad. It felt a lot worse than a teapot."

"Yes, well, Severus rarely had our wands pointed at him," Draco said. He bent and gathered the robe from the floor, carelessly bunching it up. "I think we're done here. Let's go home."

"Finally," Harry said. He buttoned his clothes back up with a relieved smile. "Why couldn't we go before? I didn't want to try any of this on."

"It's best to. Sometimes a hem has to be redone or a seam adjusted." Draco dropped the robe in the box and wrapped the paper over it again. "We can just take it to Malkin if it needs any alterations."

As Draco's face started to cloud over again, Harry put his hands over Draco's. "If it needs it, I can take it to Madam Malkin. You can wait in the carriage with something from that dark candy store to keep you happy."

At the mention of the Devil's Delights, Draco brightened considerably. "You remembered."

"Of course. You only talked about it every day."

Harry opened the dressing room door and left first, eager to get out. Draco followed behind, smiling at his lover's distaste for shopping as he carried the slim boxes holding each of his master's new robes. A second later as he almost bumped into Harry, he realized what a good thing it was that he looked as if he was performing the mild labor of a house slave.

"I thought I made it clear," Harry snarled, "that your presence is unwelcome."

Flanked by two aurors, the Ministry official didn't bother with a friendly smile as before. Instead Kernwall held out a roll of parchment.

"I am here on official Ministry business," he said. "New rules have been put in place regarding slaves purchased as spoils of war. Any infraction of these rules may be grounds for fines, penalties and confiscation of any slave not fully bound according to them. You have one week to fully comply before inspections begin."

Harry took the parchment and unfurled it, glancing at it and then rolling it back up before Draco could sneak a look at it.

"Inspections?" Harry asked.

"It's all explained there," Kernwall said, "but the short of it is that an auror will be sent round to make sure you're following the law. Of course this will make owning any slave quite more complicated, and for someone of your celebrity, perhaps you'd rather forego the additional effort and remit your slave back to Ministry ownership?"

"Draco Malfoy belongs to me," Harry said, his voice growing louder. "And perhaps it's a damn good thing I kept the receipt. If you don't have anything else to say, clear off."

The two aurors narrowed their eyes at the dismissal, but being the Boy Who Lived brought certain privileges with it, one of which was telling minor authority where it could go. They apparated away, and a moment later Kernwall followed.

Harry opened his mouth to speak to Draco, but he spotted Mareschal standing in the corner trying not to catch his eye. He realized the clothier had been stalling him before so the aurors would know where to find him to deliver the parchment. Without a word, he took the boxes from Draco, dropped them on the counter and walked out with Draco in one arm, hurrying him into the carriage. He didn't even notice until he had to open the door that he was holding his wand.

"Damn it," Harry muttered as he climbed in behind him and closed the door. "Draco, what the hell did your family do to him? He's so intent to get his hands on you I'm afraid to let you out of my sight."

"I didn't do anything," Draco mumbled. He curled up on the seat and hugged his knees to his chest. "I don't remember him at all. I only saw him in Azkaban afterward."

The murmur of Diagon Alley faded as the carriage carried them away, leaving them in silence. Harry drummed his fingers on the windowsill in frustration, watching the brick walls disappear to be replaced by sun-dappled forest paths hidden from muggle eyes. Wizards could travel easily between through their scattered world, but with the Ministry watching over his shoulder, Harry felt as if he were stuck on these roads and nothing else, like a rat in a cage. A road to take him home, a road to take him to Diagon Alley, a road to Hogsmeade, a road that could take him across the water to the continent even, but the magic seemed less magical when he couldn't leave the road.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, touching Draco's shoulder. "You're not to blame for this."

"...it's all right," Draco said, but his voice was too controlled and deliberate. "For all we know, someone in my family might have hexed him in the past."

"A hex isn't enough reason to want to hurt you," Harry said. "I'll owl Dumbledore and Tonks and Lupin. They might be able to find out something."

Draco didn't answer. He wanted Harry to grow to hate the Ministry, but he didn't want to fall into the Ministry's hands to accomplish it. He glanced sideways at Harry, eyeing the parchment still in his hand.

"What are the rules?" he asked.

Harry hesitated, then unrolled the parchment and skimmed over the formal language, skipping to the rules nestled in beauraucratic language. "Restrained at all times, separate sleeping area, no evidence of abuse--"

Draco snorted. "Like they care."

"That's probably for public opinion." Harry paused to read the next paragraph twice, to make sure he understood it. "And I have to show that you're doing physical labor. Doesn't say what kind, though."

"Of course not. That's vague enough that they can take me away no matter what we do." Draco curled up tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. "Back under Azkaban if I'm lucky. I'd rather face dementors than whatever that bastard can think up."

"That won't happen."

"For your own good, of course," Draco laughed grimly, not listening to him. "Harry Potter, the young war hero, too busy to care for a slave. Wouldn't want the pureblood to get off easy--"

"No. They won't touch you."

The tone of Harry's voice startled him. For a moment, Draco had the feeling he was back at the last battle against the Death Eaters, cowering behind Harry and listening as he told Voldemort that he was going to kill him. Cold, matter of fact--Draco had believed every word Harry said, and knew the dark lord wouldn't be able to touch him.

If his lover began to treat the Ministry like a new enemy--

No, Draco told himself. The change wouldn't happen so fast. Most likely, Harry focused his anger on that one auror, but the Ministry had made another mistake, one that Draco knew he could use this to his advantage. Fan up Harry's anger and disillusionment, whip his indignation into a ferver and persuade him that he didn't have to rule after eradicating the government...

"You can scheme later," Harry said softly. "Not right now."

Draco didn't bother denying it. He looked at Harry, the tired lines around his eyes and the resigned hang of his shoulders. Maybe it was disappointment at how the wizards he'd saved now acted like petty tyrants, or the possibility that they were being drawn into another fight right after a war, but for a moment his lover looked ten years older.

Fighting was easy when Harry took all the risks. Draco's risk was taking Harry for granted.

He sighed and didn't apologize. Neither of them would believe it. Instead he slowly uncurled and extended his hand, thinking that Harry would hold it between them. To his surprise, Harry took his hand and pulled him across the seat against his side, touching his chin and prompting him to meet his look.

"They won't take you," Harry said. "We won't give them the chance."

Draco didn't answer. That would've been easier to believe if Harry had stormed Azkaban and stolen him away, not bought him on the auction block. He looked down again, but he didn't pull away.

Let Harry try all his legal choices, use up all his favors with the Ministry and run himself ragged trying to stay one step ahead. Only when every auror and official proved that nothing would change would Harry finally move to stop them. Draco hoped he survived his lover's naivete in one piece.

They rode home in silence, too at odds with their thoughts to speak. When they arrived, Draco followed Harry out of the carriage without any relief. The manor would always be his home, but with little more than bare, utilitarian furniture in a handful of rooms, it felt less like a house and more like a brittle shell he feared might crack at any moment.

"Hm, that's odd," Harry murmured.

Draco followed Harry's look toward their front door, where a large barn owl perched on the overhang and watched them walk up the stone path. When they came close enough, the owl flapped down on top of a neatly wrapped box tied up with string on the mat. Harry knelt and took the offered note bound to its leg, and a moment later the owl flew away without waiting for a treat.

Harry opened the note before Draco had a chance to scold him for not checking for jinxes, but when nothing poisonous spilled out, he looked over Harry's shoulder.

__

Lord Harry Potter,

Please forgive me. The aurors insisted I alert them when you returned. I had no choice. They have on record several youthful indiscretions that, if prosecuted, could send me to Azkaban.

I offer these gifts in way of apology. I have included your original parcels and added several that I believe will suit your companion. They have been treated with various spells that are listed on each garment.

I also send you information. Much of the Malfoy estate has not been sold off yet. A special dealers auction has been announced a week from now. I have enclosed my invitation and hope that you will find it useful.

With my sincerest apologies,

Mareschal

"A special auction," Harry read aloud. "What does he mean by that?"

"Only store owners," Draco whispered. "Only wholesalers or antique dealers or--Harry, we have to go."

"But if it's only--"

"Look, the invitation doesn't have a name," Draco said. "We can go. Harry...please."

Harry turned the invitation over in his hands. The gold embossing sparkled in the sunlight with large swirling letters inviting the bearer to a Ministry-sponsored auction of goods once owned by Death Eaters, captured by brave aurors.

The hypocrisy of it almost made Harry clench the card in a fist, curling the edges before Draco cried out, startling and stopping him. Harry nodded once.

"We won't be able to get everything," he warned him.

"Anything," Draco whispered. "I want my life back."

"Then we'll go."

He handed the invitation to Draco, who took it almost reverently. Since coming back to the manor, every day felt like a wild broom ride that left Draco breathless. Despair, frantic hope, bitter determination...someday he would feel joy again. Triumphant, feral joy, like a snake bringing down prey much larger than itself.

He held the invitation against his chest like a promise.

TBC...


End file.
